Too Hard to Resist

by Robin Bielman

  “I don’t draw,” Elliot says.

  “Neither do I,” Drake counters, “but Madison’s instructions were easy to follow.” He gives a small shake of his head and goes back to his drawing.

  “I could help you,” I offer, my anger dissipating. Elliot sounds a little…lost maybe?

  He looks up at me, ready to tell me no if the flash of irritation is any indication. But just as his mouth opens, his eyes soften. “Okay,” he relents.

  I sit down next to him and start my instructions from the beginning. His hand isn’t exactly steady as he follows my directions, so I lean over and cover it with mine. He’s a leftie, though, and I’m right-handed, so the angle is weird. When I try to pull my arm back, his other hand captures my wrist, signaling I should stay put. “Let me switch hands,” I whisper. If he just needs my touch, I can do that, and at the very least help stabilize his hand.

  Our position brings me close to his side, my breasts pressed against him, my mouth only inches from his stubbled jaw. I’m well aware of everyone else in the room so I’m sure to throw off the vibe like this is no big deal. Nothing to look at here! I’m just helping Elliot draw. I’d be in this position with anyone else in the room if need be.

  Body language can lie, right?

  I continue to quietly instruct him until the bare bones of his sketch is complete. He takes a deep breath as he studies what he’s drawn. “Not bad, Mr. Sex,” I say. Shit! “I mean Sax.” I yank my arm back and practically kick the chair away in my haste to stand.

  Elliot grins for the first time since he entered the room. This is not amusing. This is dangerous. I can’t believe that slipped out of my mouth. Did Drake hear?

  And now my ankle hurts because I landed on it funny.

  I hobble away before either one of them can say anything. Auggie is at my side two seconds later. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re right. Can you ask Tony to play guitar now? I don’t want to draw any attention to the fact that I stood up wrong. Maybe I can sneak away to ice my ankle for a few and then come back?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks.” I keep walking, but before I exit the conference room I look over my shoulder to see if Drake appears to have heard what I said. His head is down so I’ve no idea, but Elliot is staring at me, an unreadable expression on his face. I wince, my ankle throbbing, and focus back on my steps.

  For the rest of the weekend, I vow to keep my distance.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elliot

  “Let her go,” Drake says.

  I sit my ass back in the chair. “It looked like she might have reinjured her ankle.” When I grinned like a jackass at her mispronunciation of my name and she jumped to her feet.

  “And you want to kiss it better?”

  I jerk my head to look at him directly. Shit. I should have lived with the hurt in Madison’s eyes and skipped the drawing like I’d intended. Was I aware of Drake sitting right next to me while she had her tits pressed against me, and her small, soft hand on top of mine? Yes. But he looked engrossed in his drawing. And I thought I’d done a good job of schooling my reaction to her. I think about lying to him now for all of five seconds. Drake is the reason I got this job and I owe the guy the truth.

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck,” I say to my lap. Then raising my head, I say, “We haven’t crossed any line in case you’re wondering.” I think more seriously about that statement. “Fuck. Yes, we have.” Even if I hadn’t had her half naked in my lap and my finger in her mouth in Seattle, the flirting I’ve done far exceeds innocent. “If things were different and I wasn’t her boss, I’d want to date her,” I admit.

  “That’s a problem,” Drake says.

  “I know.”

  “It sounds like there’s enough grounds to let her go.”

  His laying blame on Madison rubs me the wrong way. I clench my fists under the table. He has no clue what he’s talking about. “She’s not at fault. Not by a long shot.”

  “Look, I know I’ve joked around about her, and I shouldn’t have done that. If I put you at ease with your relationship with her, that’s on me, so if you can move forward in a professional manner only, I’ll forget we had this conversation.”

  “She’s a phenomenal assistant and I don’t want to lose her.”

  “Looks like you have your answer then.”

  Tony starts playing the guitar in the front of the conference room, bringing my conversation with Drake to a stop. While my coworker strums the instrument like a pro, I think about Madison. Am I that hard up that I’d risk my job to what? Fuck her once? We can’t have a relationship and work together, so that leaves giving in to temptation then forgetting it ever happened? That’s fucked up and Madison deserves more. I just have to suck up this feeling that it’s inevitably going to happen.

  And keep my hands to myself in order to make sure it doesn’t.

  My mind drifts to my future and my five-year plan. I eventually want someone special to share my life with, but work comes first. It always has. I’m afraid I’ll be worse off if I veer from my work goals. Yes, there’s been the occasional girl to spark more than my passing attention, but it hasn’t panned out. That Madison is the brightest spark I’ve come across is a cruel joke. And she’s been right under my nose for years.

  Not for the first time, I wonder why we didn’t connect after she ditched her groom and before she walked into ZipMeds. Then I answer my musing with because the job was meant for her. I wasn’t stretching the truth when I said she was a phenomenal assistant, and maybe it’s not what I needed, but what she needed.

  Which means I will not screw it up for her.

  There will be no screwing.

  Of any sort.

  No more flirting.

  No more fantasizing, eye fucking, staring, or teasing. Anything that ends in –ing is stricken from our association. Even eating.

  Goddamn note of hers.

  …

  “Hey,” Madison’s gentle tone is music to my ears after the phone call I finished with Drake a few minutes ago. I lift my head from my computer to see what’s up as she slips all the way into my office. “I just emailed you the final trending forecast for Indonesia and Rwanda, so if that’s all, I’m going to head home now.”

  I glance at the time. Jesus. It’s nine o’clock. I kept her late because James has been breathing down my neck about the expansion project. She’s been amazing helping with it, her contact in Indonesia a big plus.

  “Okay. Thanks, Mads. I really appreciate all your help. Good night.” Damn it. I quickly drop my gaze. It’s the first time I’ve slipped and called her Mads in a while. Ever since we got back from Tahoe a little over a week ago, we’ve been nothing but appropriate with each other.

  It hasn’t been easy.

  Every time I look at her, I feel connected to her beauty and intelligence in a way I’ve never felt before, and I tell myself in order to keep her, I have to let her go.

  “You should head home, too,” she says, taking the chair across my desk and drawing my helpless gaze, because there is nothing I’d rather rest my tired eyes on than her. “You’ve been working late every night.”

  I reach over my shoulder and rub the knots there. “Some weeks are like that.”

  “Is there anything else I can do so you get out of here quicker?”

  “No. You’ve done enough. Thanks for the extra hours you’ve put in.” It hasn’t been a hardship working late when Madison is on the other side of the glass wall.

  “Thanks for trusting me with so much responsibility. I’ve learned a lot from you.”

  “We make a good team.”

  “We do.” She stands and moves around my desk toward me.

  In typical pulse-pounding fashion, my heart beats a little faster. What is she doing?

  “Friend to friend, let me at least help with that?�
� She lifts my hand out of the way and starts massaging my upper back and shoulders.

  I’m an idiot, because no way in hell am I about to refuse a massage from her. I don’t tell her no, that’s okay. Instead, I drop my chin and let my head loll forward. She did put us in the friend zone.

  She kneads my muscles with perfect pressure, using the heel of her hands and fingers in flawless coordination. Add back massage to her list of extraordinary qualities. It feels so good that when I sigh in total surrender, I don’t give a shit.

  “You’re really tight,” she says.

  I’d like to find out how tight she is.

  “I’ve been told I carry my stress there.”

  “I think a lot of us do.” She digs a little deeper. I had no idea her small, delicate hands contained so much power.

  “Feel free to stop as soon as you get tired.”

  Her hands still. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “Not even a little.”

  She resumes rubbing my knots away. “You played baseball growing up, right?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you play in college?”

  “For two years, yeah. I had to give it up when I tore my ACL.” Behind my closed eyelids, I remember the green of the grass and standing in the outfield hoping the ball would be hit to me in center. With every pitch and hit, I wanted in on the play.

  “Ouch. So you know all about knee pain.”

  “More than I wish I did, that’s for sure. How’s your knee feeling, by the way?”

  “Good. The stitches are out and there’s a small scar, but I don’t mind it.”

  “And the ankle?” She’s been wearing heels again for the past few days, today’s pair the black ones with a thick bow at the back of each ankle.

  “It’s good, too.” She leans against my chair, pressing more firmly into the spot just below the curve of my neck. The knot there is almost gone.

  I make a mental note to buy her a gift certificate to a day spa for a massage or facial or whatever she wants to relax and feel good. I’d offer to personally return the favor, but I don’t trust myself to limit my hands to her back and shoulders.

  “Okay, turn around,” she says, lifting away.

  “Turn around?” I ask, raising my head, but making no other move. My mind immediately goes to a sexy-as-hell picture of her down on her knees unzipping my pants. I concentrate on keeping my dick in a polite position.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind facing me, the new angle will make it so I can grip your shoulders and use my thumbs to press into your front deltoids while the rest of my fingers massage your rear deltoids, and I should be able to break down the rest of those knots.”

  I run my hand over my mouth and jaw as I turn. Grip, press, massage. She can do whatever she wants to any part of me she wants. I’m putty in her hands. “Is there anything you’re not good at, Miss Hastings?”

  “Probably.”

  “Such as?” I automatically spread my legs so she can step between them. Big mistake. This puts my face just below her mouthwatering chest. She’s wearing the short black dress I bought her with those sexy heels of hers. The dress is fitted on top and flares out at the bottom. The short sleeves, neck, and shoulders are crocheted, revealing a hint of skin. The outfit is sweet and sexy, just like my assistant. I couldn’t resist. I felt the gift was about giving rather than claiming ownership of a bet.

  “Hammering,” she says, gripping my shoulders. “I’m terrible with a hammer. I tried to hang a picture in my room once and missed the nail entirely and put a hole in the drywall.” She squeezes her hands, pressing her thumbs and fingers into my skin.

  I can think of a few things I’d like to press against her. Focus on the massage, man. I close my eyes and drop my head.

  “At least you didn’t hit your finger,” I say.

  “Oh, I did that the next time.” She stops for a moment, as if feeling the pain all over again. “I was so worried I put a hole in the wall that I moved slightly to the right and tried again, thinking I could cover the hole with the picture. Instead, I hit my thumb.”

  I open my eyes, intending to look up, but get stuck on Madison’s bare legs. Her skin is smooth and the color of cream. The light scent of strawberries reaches my nose. All of a sudden, I don’t know what to do with my hands. My fingers itch to touch her. To slip under her skirt, palm the backs of her thighs and work my way up to her ass. What color underwear is she wearing? What style? What would she do if I dipped a finger inside them?

  “Ouch,” I give back to her before slamming my eyes shut and clutching the arms of my chair. Is it against office policy to undress my assistant with my mind? I don’t think so.

  “Needless to say, coordination has never been one of my strong suits.”

  “You’ve got plenty of others.”

  “Thanks.”

  For the next few minutes, we’re silent. She’s got me so relaxed, I’m finally able to clear my mind. My muscles are loose. My jaw is slack. I doze off. I dream…about C-cups encased in a light-blue bra, long, sexy legs wrapped around my waist while I sit in my desk chair. Matching light-blue panties fit snugly against the growing bulge in my pants as she grinds against me and…

  “Elliot?”

  Damn, I love the voice saying my name.

  “Elliot?”

  I jolt awake. My cock is hard, my breathing a little shallow. And my hands are underneath Madison’s dress. Shit. I look up. Her chest is rapidly rising and falling, her face is flushed. Do I immediately remove my hands from the fantastic curve where her ass meets her thighs? Nope.

  Not yet.

  Because I’ve never touched a sweeter curve than this one in my life. (By my estimate, she’s wearing a cheeky panty.)

  And I’m a selfish prick.

  To my credit, a mixture of longing and greed shines in her eyes. She isn’t upset about where my hands are.

  “I got the knots out,” she whispers. Her arms are at her sides and I wonder how long ago I started copping a feel.

  “Thanks. And uh”—I reluctantly release my hold—“sorry about that. I’ve never acted on a dream before. At least none that I’m aware of.”

  “You were dreaming about me?”

  “Yes,” I tell her honestly. Trying to be the good guy is exhausting. I’m tired of fighting with myself.

  “I dream about you, too,” she admits. She combs her fingers through my hair, sighs in pleasure, then pulls her arms back. My scalp tingles from her touch. “I’ve been dying to do that, and I figured since you got to feel somewhere, I could, too.”

  I glance down at my lap. She does, too, and my best intentions completely abandon me. “Can I pick the next place you feel?”

  Her eyes widen.

  “Don’t get shy on me now, Mads.”

  She smartly scoots around the desk, out of reach. I contemplate standing, but remain in my seat and swivel my chair around. If I get to my feet, I’ll chase after her until I catch her.

  “And don’t tell me that massage was completely innocent on your part.”

  She plays with the hem of her dress. “I don’t know what it was, but I genuinely wanted to make you feel better.”

  “You did.”

  “This back and forth is confusing, Elliot.” She lets go of her dress and pushes her shoulders back so she’s standing at her full height.

  “Agreed.”

  “I love this job. It’s given me confidence I’ve never had before, and I think that’s spilling over into my personal relationships, too. You’re easy to like as a boss and as someone more, but I’ve worked too hard to throw this job away for a night of mind-blowing sex.”

  “Mind-blowing?”

  She waves the description away. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

  “I do. And I’m completely out of line here and apologize for flirting with you again. You’re an outstanding assistant and I don’t want to lose our working relationship. These feelings will pass and we’ll laugh about it one day.”

  “I
hope so.” The vulnerability in her voice kills me, and I should have realized what an ass I was being.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable in any way. It wasn’t my intention and you can be sure I’ll back off completely.”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  “You’ve got no reason to be.” It’s not her fault she’s beautiful, smart, kind, and a host of other qualities that get me in trouble when I think about them. “Let me shut down my computer and I’ll walk you out.”

  “Okay. Can I say one more thing?”

  “Absolutely. I want us to be able to talk about anything.”

  “Even if there wasn’t a nonfraternization policy, it would be really dumb for us to get involved. If we were sleeping together and had a fight or things went wrong, we’d bring it to the office and things would get awkward really fast. And if we ever broke up, I don’t think I could keep working for you. How could I when you…” Her gaze darts out the window behind me. “I also want—”

  “Back up. When I what?”

  She takes a second. “When you found someone else.”

  “Do you mean cheated on you?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “Maybe.”

  “Jesus, Mads, that you even think that about me hurts like hell. I would never do that to any girl I was dating. I’ve been cheated on, too, remember, and I know how it feels.” A sharp ache settles in the pit of my stomach. Her uncertainty tells me she still isn’t over what her ex did to her. I stand but stay on my side of the desk. “Not all guys cheat.”

  “I know,” she says, like she regrets dropping her guard and saying what she did.

  “Despite some of my behavior this evening, I am one of the good guys.”

  “I know that, too, and I’m sorry for implying otherwise. I shouldn’t have.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What I started to say was I also want to be recognized for my work here because I earned it, not because I was sleeping with my boss. I want my coworkers’ respect and to prove myself valuable for no other reason than my work performance, not any performing I do in the bedroom. So even though the rule seems stupid when we get caught up in each other, it’s not a bad thing. At all.”